


Rises and Falls

by Emerald Embers (emeraldembers)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Necrophilia, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-31
Updated: 2010-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:52:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emeraldembers/pseuds/Emerald%20Embers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fate has a cruel sense of humour but Dean won't let Castiel go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rises and Falls

Dean wasn't sure if it was Lucifer's fault; but if it was, he had to hand it to the bastard for having an imagination.

Not a particularly creative imagination, but imagination nonetheless.

And the weird thing was that even if the world was kind of fucked, at first the zombie apocalypse topped the Croatoan apocalypse in every conceivable way. Infection was admittedly easier - took only a bite or scratch instead of blood-to-blood contact - but zombies were slower, easier to spot from a distance with the shuffling walks and pained groans of hunger, and were kind of fun to kill on account. They also had the major, _major_ advantage of not looking like regular humans.

Well. Most of them.

.

Sam didn't shut up for the best part of a month when Dean refused to kill Castiel even if he hadn't brought up the idea much since; but after enough arguments and after Dean set about converting a stolen trailer into a transportable cage so that Castiel wasn't actually in the car with them anymore, he'd been a little closer to pissed and worried rather than outright raging and scared.

Dean hadn't been insane enough to try converting the Impala itself into a decent carrier for two humans and a zombie anyway - didn't want to be responsible for the consequences if there was a crash and Castiel sprang free while Dean had someone in the passenger seat to panic about.

He hadn't needed to worry for himself or Sam; not as far as the virus was concerned anyway. It turned out being an angelic vessel had benefits so long as you weren't actually possessed; Sam had been scratched and ought to have been infected but still seemed healthy enough, Dean had been outright bit but was still going; so it seemed that either Winchester genes were awesome, or being a potential suit for either Lucifer or Michael warranted immunity from the virus. Everything had been pretty okay for them.

Castiel though? That had been a different story.

.

Castiel hadn't changed like the others; probably a side-effect of the whole being-an-angel deal. But he'd changed nonetheless, and it had been pretty noticeable; he'd started eating, for one, and getting distracted a little too easily. At first Dean thought fair enough, maybe those were weird side-effects of the angel being cut off from Heaven; he'd only found out different by accident, in circumstances he couldn't really call unfortunate. Because if Castiel hadn't been infected, the circumstances would have been beyond amazing - fate just had a really fucking cruel sense of humour.

Castiel's interest in food had been accompanied by an increasing reaction to other stimuli; he wasn't just easily distracted by sights, but by touch. And Dean wasn't really as ashamed as he could have been about the fact that he liked the way Castiel would shiver and gasp - literally gasp - at something as incidental as their fingers brushing when Dean passed him something. And Dean had always been a bit of an earthy guy himself, so there had only ever been one place that was going to end up, especially if Castiel was so receptive to the idea.

Sam had taken the hint when Castiel closed his hands over Dean's and refused to let go in the middle of what had been a three-way game of poker; had left the room for them while he hunted through the empty house for tinned food and anything else of use. Dean had loved every second of getting Castiel out of his clothes at long, long overdue last, loved spreading Castiel out on the bed and taking his time, and okay, maybe it was a little girly, but he had to admit that their first time hadn't really just been about sex.

So it had been jarring when Castiel had rolled onto his side afterwards, Dean fully intending to curl around him until he noticed the bite on Castiel's shoulder; red and sore and infected looking, but not quite spreading like a normal bite. He'd felt something a little odd before when he'd been kissing Castiel and rubbing his back, had lowered his hands when Castiel flinched, but hadn't thought anything of it.

And normally he wouldn't have paid any of Castiel's wounds much attention - he'd learned not to - but if Castiel had a wound that wasn't healing properly, that was bad. Worse than bad. He'd seen Castiel fight off a group hand to hand earlier in the week but had assumed Castiel had escaped unscathed; typical angel, never telling him anything he could have _really_ done with knowing.

.

There was no point trying to hide it; he owed Sam better than lies when they'd worked so hard to get past the secrets and distrust, and when the truth had been laid bare, after the meaningless apologies for something that couldn't be changed and the shouting in anger because anything was better than sitting through this silently, there was only one matter left worth discussing.

What they were going to do with Castiel.

Castiel had offered the obvious answer - to abandon him, let him finish changing somewhere he wasn't likely to get his hands on survivors, because although he craved food now he would never honestly need it.

Dean had cut that idea off instantly. "We're not leaving you."

"Dean, we shouldn't -" Sam began, the voice of reason, and Dean turned on him, almost snarling.

"We leave him behind and someone's going to try killing him. And he's not gonna go down like the rest of them do. We leave him behind and other people will get hurt." He didn't leave in the unspoken fact that if he couldn't kill Castiel himself he'd be damned again before he'd let anyone else do the honours. "He's an angel, something will - something will fix this."

Castiel and Sam were quiet at first, before Castiel finally asked, "And if it doesn't?"

.

Dean didn't answer the question. Still hadn't, best part of a year later.

.

Although the spread was slow, slower than any regular human turning by a massive amount, Castiel still turned; had to concentrate more and more on the simplest of tasks, hungered for meat that hadn't so much been on a grill as looked at it and changed its mind, and Dean couldn't change any of it. He could smack Castiel across the shoulders or the back of his head to return the angel's attention, snap him out of that glazed, daydreaming expression, but after the first week he was doing it often enough it looked more like abuse than help and he'd had to give up, only stopping to shake Castiel by the shoulders whenever they really needed his help or expertise.

By the end of the second week Castiel refused to leave Dean's side, openly expressed his fear of being abandoned and not being aware of himself enough to _notice_, and when they pulled up at an empty house and took advantage of decent locks and two beds that had been made but not slept in, Dean had pulled the sheets up around Castiel and himself to keep them warm and to give himself an excuse to press close to the angel when fucking him into the mattress.

Dean had woken up early that morning to Castiel kissing him, tears streaking the angel's face, and that had horrified him; his stomach had jumped and he'd tightened his hold around Castiel's waist. "Hey, hey, what's wrong?"

It was a stupid question to ask when the colour and temperature of Castiel's skin already told him everything he needed to know. "I'm forgetting," Castiel said.

Dean hadn't known what to do; had kissed Castiel back hard, pushed him back against the bed before rubbing up against him, still needing a wash from the night before but not caring; Castiel had no body odour of his own, not really, only the slightest morning breath, and he'd linked fingers with Castiel, hadn't let go. Hadn't wanted to; knew what every passing second, minute, hour meant for Castiel.

.

They reached the end of the month, Sam's little looks driving Dean insane because he already _knew_ it was crazy, knew they could just finish Castiel off and be done with it, done with the risk to others, but Dean hadn't been able to do it and there was no fucking way he'd have let Sam do it in his place.

Castiel had turned to Dean on one of his last lucid days, stroked his fingers down Dean's cheek until Dean turned his face into the angel's palm and kissed it, and he'd started telling Dean everything. All of it. Everything he could remember from when he'd first become aware of his existence through to his stationing on Earth; told Dean about the battles in Hell, about smiling at Uriel's jokes and the ache when Anna had left and Zachariah had taken her place, about brothers and sisters he'd loved and lost.

He reached the moment of taking Jimmy's host and refused to talk again until Dean met his eyes. "You were worth saving," Castiel said. "You will never believe me, but you were worth saving."

.

In the back of the Impala over the miles covered crossing the country picking off zombies and trying to track down Lucifer, Castiel didn't shut up except to sleep or eat or let Dean use their rare moments of privacy to full advantage.

Castiel spoke of Sam, of misjudging him; spoke of Bobby and Chuck, Anna and Uriel and Zachariah, even Lucifer before the fall, and Dean kept waiting on his turn, when he'd get a mention beyond the details he knew already and a few that, admittedly, he hadn't.

They were two hundred miles down the road with Sam driving when Castiel gripped him tight, eyes no longer focused, still talking as if speech was the last conscious act he had full control of, and the story was Dean's. How Dean had looked to Castiel before being dragged from Hell; how he'd looked after; how Castiel had never lost faith in him, not truly, even when Dean failed to save the world, even when Dean refused to say 'Yes' to Michael and end all of this. How being around Dean had led to him questioning himself, questioning his orders, finding he was experiencing the emotions Anna had told him he could not have without falling, and Dean realised with every word how he'd tied Castiel's life to his without the angel ever getting a choice of his own. He was the reason Castiel had become half-human, become vulnerable to something like this.

Castiel talked about learning how things tasted, how they smelled, what it was to truly _look_ at the world and the beauty in it, and if Dean hadn't been listening to every last word he would probably have missed it because in between describing the taste of different types of chocolate and the scent of trees after being soaked in a storm he spoke of love for his father, love for his creations, and love for Dean.

Dean hadn't really expected if Castiel confessed love it would come out sounding as if he'd been saying "I love milk" or "I love sleeping". It was just there, a fact. Immutable.

Castiel didn't reach the end; reached his first words with Raphael after being brought back from the dead before he distracted himself feeling Dean's pulse, rambling on about the rhythm and beat and the warmth of it before finally going quiet. Blessed silence, or not.

Dean snapped his fingers in front of Castiel's eyes, but the angel paid no attention; and Dean grimaced, shut his own eyes against the sting in them.

Whatever had been left of Castiel was gone.

.

Castiel was docile at first, lamb-like, following Dean and Sam around blindly and wandering off if left to his own devices, but hunger returned soon enough and excepting the lack of open wounds anywhere save his shoulder, Castiel would have been indistinguishable from any other infected human. Hunger turned him aggressive and after wrestling Castiel off him - because as much as Dean was immune to infection by bite, it didn't mean he was likely to survive having his throat ripped out - he'd settled on hooking up the stolen trailer; and at first they'd just kept Castiel tied up to secure him, but Dean couldn't shake himself free of the idea that the thing in the trailer was still Castiel in one form or another. A fair bit of ingenuity later with some reluctant help from Sam and they'd had their cage set up, something Castiel could at least stand up in if he wanted to, and something that made feeding Castiel a hell of a lot safer.

Dean had made one promise to Sam; he'd never feed Castiel while Sam was awake, and he'd never feed Castiel something with a pulse. It seemed fair enough, and meant Dean had privacy to talk to Castiel from time to time when Sam needed a rest and they could pull the Impala over to the roadside reasonably safely.

Dean hadn't given up talking to Castiel during the feeds, even if he'd learned not to put any part of himself within a foot of Castiel's mouth unless absolutely necessary. He hadn't had a response yet; had tried all the shock tactics, even the shamelessly overdramatic ones like telling Castiel "I love you". It hadn't worked. Life wasn't a Disney movie, love didn't bring people back from the dead unless you traded your soul for them. He kept hoping fate liked drama as much as it liked irony, that some day Castiel would get better and he'd either get to say "I love you" in a situation where Castiel could understand the words, or that Castiel would get better and he'd find himself unable to say them all over again.

Most of the time it was easier treating Castiel like a wildcat; an overgrown, beautiful, near blue-pale wildcat with no interests beyond eating and sleeping and getting a decent backrub when the opportunity presented itself.

.

"Hey Cas," Dean said, watching as wild, ever-hungry eyes followed him, before holding up an ex-demonic vessel. Castiel was all too keen to snatch it out of his hands, didn't make one gesture of complaint when Dean handcuffed his wrists together given it wasn't preventing him from feeding; ripped into the soft tissue of neck and met no resistance.

It was a risk with Sam sleeping in the car but Dean still opened the cage door, bringing in a bucket of cold water and two towels that had seen better days. He didn't talk much on these visits; couldn't think of anything worth saying. He could speak if he was just feeding Castiel because if he faced the angel he could at least pretend they were having a two-way conversation, but washing Castiel changed things. It was easier just to get on with it, dipping the first towel into the water before pushing Castiel's shirt up and rubbing the towel over Castiel's skin, cleaning as best as he could. It was bizarre how he still felt guilt for the fact the water was cold when Castiel wasn't much different, any pulse in his body long gone and his temperature dropped to that of the air around him on account. And even if Castiel had no intelligent interests anymore, he still arched into the stroke of Dean's hand down his back, catlike again in his expression of approval, and Dean pressed a kiss to the base of Castiel's spine before unbuttoning and unzipping the angel's jeans, dragging them down his legs.

Sam hadn't taken a break in twenty-three hours; Dean could almost safely say he'd be sleeping a while yet. He still looked around though before removing a tube that was on its last dregs from his pocket, squeezing the lube onto his fingers so he could slide them into Castiel easily; there was little resistance anyway, Castiel not protesting, already relaxed and pliant.

"You okay?" Dean asked, knowing he wouldn't get an answer but trying for one anyway before he unzipped his own pants, braced an arm against the cage while wrapping the other around Castiel's waist, and pushed in.

It should have felt like fucking a toy, Castiel's cold anything but erotic, but it didn't change the fact that Dean knew what it had been like for the few days he'd had with Castiel while he was warm; knew what it was like trying to help Castiel stay warm, and it didn't change the fact that this thing, even though he should have known different, in his mind the Castiel he knew was still in there somewhere. And Dean _needed_ this, needed something to take his mind off the fact that if this was the apocalypse then even if they were holding out better than they had through the Croatoan virus humanity was _still losing_.

Talking with Sam, playing card games and "I spy" games and "Who can pick off the most zombies in an hour" passed the time but they were still living moment to moment in search of Lucifer and that desperate, desperate prayer that killing Lucifer would somehow fix all this.

And he told himself he'd given up on God; had left the amulet around Castiel's neck because if Dean found God at this point he'd punch the bastard before getting a word in.

He shouldn't have enjoyed it but Castiel still seemed addicted to touch even if he couldn't get erect, still made quiet hums of pleasure between tearing off and swallowing strips of flesh from the corpse Dean had given him, and Dean tightened his hold on Castiel as he came, the orgasm shallow and nothing like sex with a conscious Castiel had been but still - still wanted, still desired and needed.

He held onto Castiel long after orgasm, feeling Castiel's skin warm up under his own body heat before he forced himself to pull away, zipping himself back up quickly before reclaiming the bucket of water; Castiel was only easy to wash as long as he had food to distract him and the body Dean had given him to feed on didn't have much flesh left worth eating. Legs first this time, cleaning away any evidence of what Dean had done, then chest; arms and face weren't worth the risk, although he could wash the worst off after Castiel finished eating by dumping the remaining water over his head. He'd done it before, had watched the almost confused look on the angel's face when given a sudden soaking, and there wasn't really any other option without some sort of brush or other means of keeping his distance.

And even if Castiel didn't seem to particularly enjoy the washing process, he seemed to appreciate the touch of the second, dry towel almost as much as being stroked by hand, making quiet sounds of approval as Dean dried him off and reminded himself that both towels really, really needed throwing in a washing machine or at the very least in hot, soapy water as soon as they found somewhere that was still more or less civilised.

Dressing Castiel was easier, but he had to take a moment to press his lips to the ever bleeding, ever angry bite on Castiel's shoulder; some part of him blindly hoping that maybe one day he'd accidentally kiss it better and Castiel would return to normal.

He removed the handcuffs before returning to and refueling the Impala, wondered what would happen when the petrol stations finally ran dry and the abandoned cars and trucks already had their contents siphoned off, and drove on.

.

Another hour of driving alone before Sam sat up and stretched with a yawn, blinking sleepily before allowing his head to fall back against the back seat. "We there yet?"

"Thirty miles to go, dude. Won't be long now." All those zombie flicks had prepared the world for the worst; safe spots tended to be safe because people didn't make mistakes they'd seen on celluloid. Just meant that he had to drop Castiel off a couple of miles out, make sure no one was going to run into him by accident, and head on in with Sam hanging out the window to make a good few "Yeah, we're both alive" gestures.

"Uh-huh." Sam's eyes were bloodshot, but still sharp enough when they focused on Dean that he knew there was no looking away from this; the road was straight enough and there wasn't anything coming in from the sides. "You know how fucked up keeping him is, right?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, because that much was true, tensing when Sam looked out of the back window, Castiel slumped in the trailer evidence enough that Dean had been out with him again; Castiel only tended towards drowsiness if he was well fed, and the fact his skin was clean proof he hadn't somehow fed himself.

"S'not love if you won't let him go."

Dean knew Sam was only talking because he was still mostly asleep; wouldn't normally go near the subject under any other circumstances. But even if Sam was being honest in his opinion, he wasn't necessarily right.

It wasn't that Dean didn't want to give up Castiel. If he thought for a moment Castiel would suffer less if Dean just gave in and killed him, he'd do it.

It was that Dean didn't want to give up hope.

.

The End


End file.
